


Twenty-fifth Summer

by sdwbf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Knotting, M/M, Werewolf Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:29:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwbf/pseuds/sdwbf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this prompt -- On a beta werewolf's twenty-fifth birthday s/he goes into heat. But Dean's not a werewolf, and even if he were, he'd be the alpha since he was the oldest, so no worries. Except if life worked out the way it was supposed to, he'd have been the tallest. WARNING: While Sam does remain sentient (not always true of my knotting fics) this does contain sex between human-Dean and wolf-form-Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty-fifth Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Given the ages, set before season 1, but because I don't like that baggage hanging on a clear AU, I've gotten rid of any possibility of the season arcs. I also opted for a more traditional wolf-but-larger appearance for the werewolves versus the version used on the show which were far too creepy looking for me to write into a sex scene.

_First born alpha  
Second born beta  
Twenty-one change  
Twenty-five cubs  
All dance in the moonlight_

**Then**

Most believed werewolves resulted from human victims of those already turned into werewolves. Hell, John Winchester had thought as much – not that he ever spent much time on considering it – until after his wife changed into one and ripped the throat out of a yellow-eyed demon who had invaded their infant son's nursery. Or at least he put it together after he ran upstairs to see a gutted wolf stuck to the nursery ceiling while a man with yellow-eyes lay on the floor gasping his last breaths.

As the 'man' died, the wolf transformed back into Mary Winchester, the ceiling burst into flames and all evidence of what John had seen vanished into an inferno. If not for his Marine training and a father's need to protect his child, all would have been lost, but he snatched up their six-month-old son and fled. He gave Sam to his four-year-old brother and ordered Dean to run out of the house as fast as he could, then went back for one last futile attempt to save Mary, but nothing remained of his wife beyond the flames forcing him back.

Again he ran, sweeping up his sons when he reached the front yard and did not stop until all threat of flames or falling debris ended. His boys safe, John could do nothing but watch their home, life as they knew it, and all he'd considered reality burn. Sitting in the back of an ambulance with his life irrevocably changed, John made a silent vow to find out what had killed his wife and make certain nothing like this ever happened again. To anyone.

**Now**

Since a few weeks after his tenth birthday Dean Winchester had known two things. First, he might be a werewolf. Imagine his and his dad's surprise that despite a ton of folklore to the contrary, it turned out weres were an entirely different species. No human victims of already turned creatures. Just a mommawere and a poppawere having cubs. Weird enough given most of the time there was some link between lore and truth, but weres being compatible enough with humans to have babies that could have babies? Well, that should have been impossible, but Dean and Sam were living proof weres and humans rocked genetics a hell of a lot better than horses and donkeys.

While not sterile, there was still some uncertainty in the old gene pool. Yeah, Dean could be a werewolf, but human genes tended to dominate in this mix and it was rare for the children of such a match to wolf-out. Which is why no pack had ever tried to take Dad's 'human spawn' away from him during the times they'd risked trying for a few answers. And that's all they had – a few answers.

So, Dean might be a werewolf, but an alpha didn't go all wolfy until twenty-one. So he spent eleven years wondering, only to have it end with cake, ice cream and no change. Caught between disappointment and relief, Dean quickly had dismissed both when Dad handed him the keys to the Impala and said, "She's all yours, son." As a consolation prize, it rocked.

Of course, bitch that he was, Sammy not only got significantly taller than his long-suffering older brother, he also went wolf. Dean added up the Impala, no fear of over-zealous hunters with silver bullets – not that regular bullets didn't work, too, but lore was lore – and the lack of fleas then decided he'd gotten the better end of the deal.

For some reason his emo-bitch brother decided having more in common with Mom's genes – and how did that happen when Dean looked like her and Sam like Dad? – equaled the end of any hope of a normal life. So he'd said goodbye to his almost fiancée telling her tearfully that she deserved so much better than him – generally pissed about the whole thing, Dean agreed, but even hearing about it made him want to hurl on the whole chick-flick moment – and tracked down his older brother to take up hunting again. All while being a moody bitch from hell about it, and damnit, it wasn't like there weren't werewolf accountants. Or doctors. Or even freaking lawyers like Sam had wanted to be. But that was his drama queen brother – everything and anything was plotting against his dreams so he might as well just give up. Sheesh.

Dean hadn't quite figured out how this translated as 'must make life living hell for my older brother,' but his had never been to reason why. Not that this time he didn't give it a shot, going so far as trying to convince Dad that there was far more room in his nice big truck for Sam's gigantic flea-bitten hide, but Sam shared their father's stubborn streak as much as his looks and no one was buying into the Apocalypse that would result from the John and Sam Show, so 'look after your baby brother' it was. Fuck.

Taking solace in 'driver chooses the music; shotgun shuts his cakehole,' Dean managed not to kill his brother or even spend too much time considering creative ways to do so if he were to weaken and give in to his totally justifiable desire to end both their suffering. Not the best system, but it worked. Sort of. But as the weeks wore on things began to really grate on Dean.

Like Sam's insistence on going wolf whenever they had problems versus dealing with them like a man. Sometimes it was the right call – hey, the ass wolfboy saved was frequently Dean's so he could admit that much – but others. … Well, there was a reason opposable thumbs were all the rage in the Darwin stakes. Then there was Sam getting all over-protective on him. And that was fucking bizarre. Big freak moaned around like some teenaged-girl on steroids, then went all snarly whenever someone got even mildly in Dean's face. "Dude, chill," was rapidly becoming their theme song. And the worst fucking thing of all? Dean was slowly getting to not only like it, but he'd caught himself the other day sort of ducking behind Sam when some asshole got all bent out of shape at losing $50 lousy bucks at pool. Cheapskate.

Sam had put the loser in his place and Dean had felt some sort of flutter in his gut when one of Sam's ginormous hands grabbed Dean's arm and hauled him off to their room. Because apparently he also liked it when his dork of a brother manhandled him, too. Didn't make a damn bit of sense. Neither did the faint tinges of disappointment when they got back to the room and there was nothing to do but watch television. Like he hadn't known that before he'd headed for the pool hall. Weird.

So yeah, always-wolfing-out Sam, annoying. Weird shit feelings, even more. All of which did not leave Dean in the best frame of mind when his body joined the drive-Dean-nuts parade. It started with his sex-drive going into over-drive – something Sam would have been quick to say was impossible if Dean were dumb enough to say anything about it. Felt like he wanted sex every single freaking minute. Except, despite at least five lovely ladies and three guys who normally fell into the his-type range crossing their path, none of them appealed to Dean. And by 'none of them appealed' he meant he couldn't get his hyper-sensitive cock to so much as twitch in their vicinity. Hell, it seemed like the only time he wasn't hard as nails was when he was around potential partners. Translated as a _lot_ of me-time in the bathroom of whatever craptastic motel room they were camped out in. Of course, no way Dean could get lucky enough for Sam not to notice. He heard one more 'you are such a freak' comment from baby bro and, so help him, Dean was putting some of his more creative fratricide ideas into motion.

Because heaven either hated Dean or wanted to punish him for thoughts of feeding Sam to rabid chipmunks – seriously, plan number 38 – the hemorrhoids started up a week before Dean's twenty-fifth birthday. Suddenly Dean had sympathy for every single freaking commercial he'd ever seen where some sap squirmed on a chair trying to scratch the itch away. Except, unlike those saps, the advertised stuff did shit to fix things and every day his anus felt a little more … puffy. And who the hell had a puffy hole?

Ever the supportive bitch, Sam immediately started complaining about the way the glop smelled. All holier-than-thou 'we wolves have sensitive noses and you're torturing mine' whines. Dean probably would have given up on the stuff if Sam had shut his yap, but Dean decided that if he had to suffer, then Sasquatch did, too. Hey, at least it got Sam something to piss and moan about besides all of Dean's me-time. All in all, it left neither one of them in the greatest frame of mind by the time they hit Winslow, Colorado to investigate a string of mysterious, bloody deaths.

And the hits kept right on coming when, the next morning, like some portent of doom, the bleeding started. He was so disgusted it took him a few minutes to remember it was his birthday. Sort of like a big cosmic sign that this vintage was past his prime. Wasn't a lot of blood and it wasn't like it wasn't one of the symptoms of hemorrhoids, but a guy just wasn't supposed to deal with blood on his briefs. He spent the rest of the day jerking off between time spent smearing great gobs of ointment on his ass, then stuffing toilet tissue between the blood and his underwear. The smell drove Sam out the door and to the library to do some research. By nine that night, Dean gave up and went to the mini-mart where he bought a microwave burrito and a box of mini-pads. Humiliation nearly killed him, but he had to admit it beat running out of toilet tissue.

Sam returned to the room just before midnight, tossed Dean a cupcake, then announced he was sleeping in the car before vanishing back out the door. Seriously not a day to go down as one of the great birthdays of all time.

*

Dean woke up when Sam darted into the bathroom, then raced through a shower and quick change of clothes. "More research," he shouted, taking off again, leaving Dean sitting on the bed, picking the icing off of his cupcake and feeling sorry for himself.

But given he'd earned a good wallow, he spent most of the day doing so. Although he did drag his freaky ass into the bathroom for a shower mid-afternoon. He'd used the last of the ointment yesterday, but hadn't bothered to get more since it had proved absolutely worthless, so at least he wouldn't have to listen to Sam bitch about the smell anymore. Versus the 999 other things.

Hungry, he headed for a diner around four and picked his way through a cheeseburger, coffee and pie all while circling around the idea of admitting he was either suffering from a serious health problem they didn't have the time, insurance or money to deal with or somewhere along the line something had literally cursed his ass. And how weird was his life when it left him sitting alone in some lousy hole-in-the-wall debating whether cancer or a curse was the good news?

He managed to worry away the hours until after sunset, and somehow a dark hole-in-the-wall proved his breaking point. Sick of dealing with this alone. And maybe Geek Boy could put his amazing research powers to work and find a reason for all of this beyond Dean having six months to live.

A couple of taps to the touch screen and Dean was all ready to send some sort of message to his jerk of a brother, but sort of drew a blank on what to say. The bell over the diner door chose that moment to draw his attention and he watched three twenty-something guys walk in. Something about them raised the hair on the back of his neck, and almost like he shouted 'hey, dudes,' they all looked straight at him. The one who oozed Jerk-in-Charged smiled at him. With extra teeth.

Glad he hadn't pulled his cell up into anyone's line of sight while he'd brooded over what message to send, Dean tapped out _sos @ diner vamps_ and hit send before the trio reached the booth in front of Dean's. He pocketed the phone a moment before Leader slid into the other side of Dean's booth and his minions took up positions to block any possible escape. Well, there was always hurtling himself through the plate glass window, but he really didn't see adding vast quantities of spurting blood into the mix as a good thing.

"Now who let a pretty little bitch like you out all alone?" Leader asked with another toothy smirk.

Despite his punk-ass youthful looks, the vamp had the air of age about him. Usually meant at least a 100 years, and experience had taught Dean to pay attention to what the old ones said. Then gank 'em.

Leader drew in a deep breath and smiled like a hungry man in front of a prime rib dinner. "And from the smell of you, in the midst of your first blood, too. Nothing sweeter."

Bitch? First blood? Oh, shit. But … "I'm the fucking oldest!" he protested like that was the worst thing he had to deal with at the current moment. But damnit, it didn't work like that!

He took absolutely zero comfort from the brief mystified look the vamp gave him. Apparently Dean was some sort of freak of nature even to an old one. Awesome. Damn, he hated his life, which brought him back to the problem of how to go on hating it instead of ending up a vamp buffet because some-fucking-how, the Leader got an even hungrier look in his eye. "You must be one hell of a submissive, boy. Hell, might be worth turning you after we drain you dry."

Dean labeled neither comment worthy of response – although he took exception to the first. Maybe more so because in the back of his mind he knew, yeah, he really kind of was. Fuck his life anyway. "We doing this here?" he asked in a tone that oozed nothing but mild curiosity. It was sort of Dean's motto – when totally screwed, mess with 'em. Not to mention, he needed the hell out of this booth if he wanted his odds of survival to hit a whopping .1 percent. And where the fuck was Sam when he needed him? Fucker probably had his head in a book and wouldn't even get his message until dawn or something tragically inconvenient.

Leader glanced around. Place had a respectable crowd – although none of the customers looked like much of a threat to three vampires, not even collectively – and the bastard seemed to be considering the option. But even cocky old ones, hell, especially cocky old ones knew better than to attract the sort of attention a massacre would create. "No, I suppose not."

He had a 'seriously tempted anyway' vibe to him that took trying to wait the trio out by sticking here right off the table. Not really Dean's style anyway. He was more the 'what the hell, let's do this thing' type – and his submissive nature could just eat it because, no matter what tall, dark and fangy thought, aside from Dad, Dean was damned good at ignoring it.

Dean shifted his attention from Leader to glare at the minion blocking his exit from the booth.

It made Leader chuckle. "Clive, you know I like to play with my food. Let the pretty wolf run."

'Pretty wolf.' What a joke. A beta couldn't manifest a wolf form until after dropping a first litter. Which made zero sense given surviving to have those cubs was going to be a real issue without a nice set of claws and fangs of his own. No wonder fucking weres were almost extinct. Only thing he had going for him and his future cubs was the vamps had pegged him as nothing more than another member of the shouldn't-exist-but-did-species club, not a hunter. Dean had every intention of proving to them the utter stupidity of such an oversight.

He masked pulling his knife with the movement of getting out of the stupid booth – and reminded himself that comfy or not, sticking to tables with chairs might be wise in the future … if he had one. Easy enough to keep his body between the weapon and his 'fan club,' which had moved to keep any exit through the front blocked off. No way he'd make it around the building and to the relative safety of his baby, especially since that was exactly what they expected him to do.

As he let them herd him toward the back, Dean considered his options. No on turning right and making for the Impala. Too much open ground if he kept going straight once he hit the door. Fucking valley towns. Which left cutting left and moving further into town. Toward the library and his stupid brother. The one who actually _had_ claws and fangs of his own. Idea of running to his big, strong alpha made Dean want to gag. All he'd need was a satiny pink gown and glitter in his hair to really go with the whole 'helpless damsel in distress' image, but, disgusting or not, it was his only shot at surviving long enough to give Sam hell for running out on him. So 'save me Sammy' it was.

Dean shoved open the back door, then spun around as he cleared the threshold. His knife caught not-Clive across the throat. Not normally the sort of weapon for the needed beheading, but adrenaline seemed to have ramped him up, and he managed to send the head tumbling to the pavement. One down.

Leaving the other two to gape at their fallen comrade – not to mention get around his corpse, Dean took off in the direction of the library. First time he'd run since going into – fuck the thought – heat, and, okay, he got it -- reaching maturity at last had made him a lot faster and stronger, even if he hadn't used his amazing breeding powers yet to earn his wolf. Mentally he upgraded his chances of survival to a heady 5 percent and poured everything he had into getting the hell out of Dodge.

Reaching Sam still his best bet, Dean opted against a lot of energy robbing, not to mention useless – they had fangs, not bullets -- bobbing and weaving and went for the quick, straight line approach. He made it less than a quarter of a mile. Not because the vamps caught him – although they'd almost had him – but because with a howl of outrage a huge, furry shape leapt past him and into the closing vamps.

Huh. Guess Sammy got the text. Dean stopped, turned, then had to flinch at the sight of his brother's wolf form ripping Leader and Clive to shreds. Bloody, gross and damned impressive. Apparently attempting to dine on Dean had moved Sam from over-protective to 'beyond pissed and fucking deadly.'

For a moment Dean considered helping – hey, it was the polite thing to do, not to mention might have restored some of his manly creds – but he cocked his head one direction, then the other trying to follow the bits of vampire flying this way and that and decided, um, no, keeping his distance was the better plan. Sheepishly unoccupied, he cleaned the blade of his knife on a patch of grass, then slipped it back into its sheath, which ate up – he flinched at his inner dialogue's choice of words – a few seconds. Left with nothing else to do, he leaned back against the nearest building to watch and wait.

Clive's head went flying into the empty street, then Leader's went airborne a few moments later. Dean got the weirdest feeling it coming to rest almost at his feet was sort of intentional. He wrinkled his nose when Sam didn't let up. "Dude, enough!" he protested as the carnage continued. "They're dead, so stop killing them already!"

Sam stopped, looked at him, then gave the big chunk of torso in his jaws a hard shake before tossing it aside like day-old garbage. The big wolf padded away from his kill, then transformed back into human once clear of the blood and gore. Good news there – the large quantities of blood and tissue clinging to fur no longer there fell away from him to decorate the pavement instead. Bad news – naked in the middle of town and it wasn't late enough to count on no one turning up to take exception at the nudity or the bloodbath. "Dean, are you-?"

"Yeah, I'm peachy. Now take off and meet me back at the hotel. We need to clear out before anyone expects us to explain all of this."

Sam nodded, went wolf again, then darted off into the shadows. Dean made two-legged tracks back to the diner. The crowd around the back didn't surprise him, but he got lucky enough for it to have drawn enough attention that no one had thought about keeping an eye out front, so he was able to collect his baby without anyone noticing.

Their life-style not easy on toys or clothes, he knew Sam would go back to the library to collect his things, so it didn't surprise him to reach the hotel first, then have enough time to get packed up and back in the car by the time Sam slipped into the passenger seat. Neither of them said a word until they were a good thirty miles out of town – something that took very little time given the speed Dean opted for the moment they cleared anything remotely resembling civilization. Then he said, "Fucking stupid. Should have considered vamps were behind the killings." He was talking to himself and being unduly harsh at that. Leader had been a cagy one and had done a good job of masking vamp-kills as something else. Still, overlooking it had almost gotten him killed and had left a sloppy amount of evidence behind about supernatural killers. Good and bad.

Oddly enough, Sam got he was berating himself, not yelling at baby brother, and his hand closed on Dean's shoulder. "I missed the signs, too. But we would have figured it out even if they hadn't gone for you." His hand squeezed, and, Dean risked glancing away from the road and to him. Dude looked fucking distressed.

"Hey, I'm okay. Not even a scratch thanks to your perfect 'save the day' timing," he assured him. But because he was Dean Winchester, not the pretty princess of some fucking fairy tale, he added, "Just remember I got one of them."

A mistake. "There were three of them?" Sam hissed, his grip tightening enough to make Dean flinch, but it didn't ease up.

"Ah, yeah. I took one out before I ran for it."

"Stop the fucking car!" Sam snapped.

"Dude, no, we need-"

"Now!" The roar of sound didn't quite rattle the windows, but Dean's eardrums thought it might have been a near thing.

"All right, all right," he muttered more to cover how flustered Sam's unexpected anger made him feel. "Don't get your panties in a twist."

Luck cut him a break – Dean remained undecided on whether this was a continuation of a good streak or a sign the bad shit might have given up on them for at least the night – and he spotted an access road cutting off into the trees. Well, road might be on the optimistic side. More like a glorified dirt path, but it was wide enough for him to guide the Impala off the road and well out of sight before he brought his baby to a stop. "Now, what-" he started to demand, but Sam hauled him out of the car like he was a misbehaving toddler, then slammed him up against the nearest tree. So much for getting out of all of this without any scrapes or bruises.

"Did they touch you?" Sam roared again, his chest heaving with fury.

"What? No! I already told you –"

Sam cut him off with a brutal kiss and Dean's eyes widened. Fuckity fuck! And the stupidity keeps on rolling tonight. Sam might be his brother, but he was also one mother of an alpha and Dean was in heat. Without the stench of hemorrhoid cream masking his scent. Sam had him naked before Dean could completely process how thoroughly screwed he was. Figuratively. And if he didn't do something damned fast, literally.

He struggled against the vice of his brother's grip on his wrists, but couldn't stop him from spinning Dean around and shoving his front up against the tree, giving Sam free and easy access to Dean's ass. One of Sam's massive hands imprisoned both Dean's wrists, and a moment later a finger began to probe Dean's hole.

"Damnit, Sammy –"

Sam's hand cracked down on his ass with enough force to make Dean's entire body shudder and tears spring to his eyes. It also made his cock go from mildly interested in anything that would get him off to rock hard. "I've told you not to call me that," he hissed, his hand connecting with Dean's bottom five more times.

He whimpered even as he tilted his hips back to encourage the blows, Leader's words about his submissive nature dancing through a mind both thrilled and horrified at Sam's swift mastery of him. "I'm sorry," he sniffed when the blows stopped, leaving his skin tight and hot with pain. "I … I love my Sammy."

"Sammy was the cub you raised," his brother said, his voice a hot puff in Dean's left ear. "Sam owns your cute little ass."

He heard the sound of a zipper parting and he tried to escape again, pulling wildly at the hand restraining him so easily. "Sam, please, I'm in heat!" It was stating the obvious, but Sam seemed to be missing an even bigger chunk of obvious. "You fuck me and you'll knock me up!"

Sam chuckled. And okay, so not so much on the missing anything front. "Can't wait to see your belly swollen with my cubs, to watch you suckle them on your tits."

Pre-cum oozed from Dean's cock and God, he wanted Sam buried deep in his cunt, wanted to ride his knot while he pumped his seed into him for hours. "You're my brother!" he shouted as he felt the head of Sam's cock brushing against his hole.

Sam suddenly let go and stepped back. For a moment, Dean thought he'd finally come to his senses, but his brother started to laugh. A big, delighted sound that made Dean's toes curl. "We're weres, Dean," he wheezed out.

Dean blushed. Werewolves. Not human. Genetic flaws worked the opposite way. The further, not the closer the family blood lines, the more flawed the offspring. Not a pack in the world that wouldn't rejoice at the strength of their cubs. Even if he had been born first, Dean had practically been conceived to be Sam's mate. He knew all this, had known all this before Sammy had even been old enough to know they might both be weres. But, a human, not a were, had raised them, and Dean couldn't help thinking like a human. Embarrassed the shit out of him that even half-crazed by Dean's pheromones Sam was proving the rational one. "Fine," he huffed, turning around to level the full displeasure of this development at his annoying soon-to-be jerk of a mate.

It made Sam chuckle and shake his head. "Get on your hands and knees, bitch," he said, whipping tears of laughter off his own cheeks. "You'll conceive faster if I take you the first time as a wolf."

And now Sam was just being insulting. "I know," Dean said with a glare, then dropped into position. He thought about being a bitchy bitch and keeping his legs together to make things more awkward for Sam, but didn't want another spanking. Tonight. Given his mouth and Sam's huge dominant streak, like it or not, he was going to spend a good chunk of his life with a sore, red bottom. As well as an extremely well-fucked hole. Life's little trade-offs, he thought with a sigh and spread his legs wide while lowering his head to rest on his forearms.

Clothes rustled, then a wet wolf-tongue stroked his hole. Dean moaned loudly and came for the first time, but stayed hard. Hey, multi-orgasmic, being a bitch had its compensations. Sam, the bastard, tortured him for several minutes with his silky, talented tongue making Dean writhe and moan until he couldn't stand it a moment longer. "Take me, damnit!" he begged. "Take me!"

Massive front legs shifted around his torso and a heavy weight settled against him. Dean had a moment to panic over the size of the cock about to impale him, then shouted and came as Sam shoved inside. Immediately Sam began thrusting with the frantic pistoning of a canine in full 'who gives a fuck about the bitch' mode, which was somehow all the hotter. Shouldn't get off on being used like this, on knowing he existed to service Sam whenever and however he wanted him. Images of Sam shoving him around and yanking his pants down to use him at will flooded his mind as he felt a bulge press against his hole. Sam's knot. His cunt throbbed with want and he shoved backwards. He screamed in a mixture of white hot pain and pleasure as the huge knot breached, then stuffed him full.

Dean sobbed and came and came and came as Sam's seed flooded him, filling him with his cubs and making Dean his mate. An hour slipped by as Dean rode his brother's knot, and he would swear the rest of his life, he felt the exact moment each of their cubs began. Four of them in all – a standard litter for two weres – and when Sam finally popped free, Dean went eagerly into his arms while Sam's unused seed trickled out of him. Or at least until Sam rolled him onto his back, pulled his legs over Sam's shoulders, then pistoned into his cunt again. Neither the cock nor the knot were quite as big in Sam's human form, but both remained an impressive size, and the same delicious agony flared through him as the knot breached him. His scream made Sam fuck him even harder and Dean's legs tightened around him in approval. He'd always appreciated a hard ride and finally he had a lover he could risk indulging with.

Sam proved relentless, taking him over and over with only a few minutes between each ride. Only his alpha's form varied, until Dean almost lost track of which version rutted into him. Sometime around dawn, the wolf's knot buried deep in his cunt, Dean passed out. When he came to, the sun was bright in the sky and he was stretched out in the front seat of the Impala, his head cradled in Sam's lap as his brother drove. Sam had dressed, but had merely wrapped Dean's naked body in a blanket.

"Hey, beautiful," Sam said, his right hand gently petting Dean's head. "About time you woke up."

Dean yawned, then stretched, but snuggled into his blanket far too comfortable to sit up. "Well, some jerk rode me hard and put me away wet."

Sam chuckled. "On the contrary, I washed you off before I put you away."

"Such a gentleman," Dean said dryly, then feeling almost shy, he added, "I feel four of them." Be a few months before he'd sense gender, then personality, but there were definitely four new lives swimming around in his belly. Four cubs. Not babies. They'd mature and be born in their wolf-forms. And thankfully they'd be the size of wolf-cubs, not human babies. They'd be three-months old before reaching human-baby size, then transforming into their human-looking but far less helpless form. And in one of those weird trade-off things, right around that time, Dean would finally manifest his wolf. He snorted. Trade-off his ass, it was a fucking Darwinistic way the species had evolved to keep a werebitch dependant on the stud.

Sam gave him a caress that felt loving and Dean found he was hungry for it. Werewolves fucked hard and fast, they didn't make love, but it didn't mean Dean didn't crave a few things. "Sam?"

"Yes, baby?"

He smiled at the endearment, even if it did totally shatter his image which was okay because if it hadn't the next words out of his mouth did. "Could we maybe stop soon and … kiss for awhile?" And cuddle. He wanted lots and lots of cuddling, but he figured he could maneuver Sam into that without having to ask.

Sam chuckled, but it wasn't a mocking sort of sound. "We'll check into a motel instead of just stopping for lunch," he promised.

"'kay," he hummed happily, letting Sam pet him for several minutes before he thought to ask, "Where are we going?"

"Montana. The Campbell Pack will accept us now. Gives us a home, family."

It sounded nice, but Dean had to snort. "You just want to keep me naked." Packs were notoriously old fashioned and alphas – both male and female – loved strutting around in clothes while their betas remained naked at all times. "And you're totally perving on the idea of fucking me no matter who is watching."

Sam smiled down at him briefly. "True enough, but we also need their protection. You're pregnant Dean," he reminded him. "And a Winchester, which means lots of enemies not above taking advantage when your belly swells enough to slow you down."

A horrible thought occurred to Dean. "Are … are you going to make me give up hunting?" His inner liberated human flinched at the question, but like his mate had said, they weren't human, and werebitches really were genetically programmed for submission. Add that to John Winchester drumming into him the need to follow orders without question and no way in Hell he could fight his nature for the rest of his life if Sam insisted they were done. Not that he wouldn't try.

"While you're pregnant, absolutely," Sam said with a firmness that Dean wanted to bristle against but he'd taken far too many hits to the stomach when dealing with even the mildest of hauntings to argue against the wisdom of the order. "But afterwards, well, I stopped denying we were hunters a long time ago."

If you could count bitching about it constantly lack of denial. Dean wisely didn't roll his eyes or comment, but he thought it really, really hard.

Sam shot him a look that said he heard it loud and clear, but let it pass. "Anyway, it makes setting up a home-base with our Pack even more important. They'll look after our cubs when we're away, and raise them if anything happens to us."

Yeah, they would. "Sounds good."

"It's my job to look after us, baby."

Less than twenty-four hours ago, it had been the other way around and submissive bitch or not, Dean wasn't going to let things go into total role reversal. "We look after each other, jerk," he insisted, even while he had to acknowledge the change with the switch of his choice of brotherly insults.

Sam echoed the idea with, "Whatever, bitch."

"Damned straight, and just so you know, I intend to fully live up to my new title, and I don't care if you spank me raw every time I do. You're fucking hand will give out before my ass."

Last night Dean knew Sam would have put those words to the test, and even now with the need to mate temporarily scratched, he saw Sam's hand twitch on the steering wheel like he was fighting the urge to reach over and give Dean one hell of a swat. "You wouldn't be you if you didn't," Sam admitted with a sigh, then warned, "But when you disrespect me in public I will punish you. Severely."

Dean's ass throbbed at the thought. Damn he was never going to sit comfortably again. He glared at Sam, but Sam didn't even look at him which was okay because if they got into a glaring contest Dean would have to yell at him for taking his eyes off the road, then Sam would probably spank him out of principle. His point made as much as his new lot in life would allow, he gave up on continued glaring and let himself slip back into a doze. Yeah, he was being a lazy bitch, but he had the next generation of Winchesters growing inside him. Tended to exhaust a guy. Well, at least this one.

After a few minutes, he felt Sam petting him again and it made him think of something. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Last night I said I loved my Sammy."

"Yeah."

"Just so you know, I love my Sam even more."

He would have gone back to sleep, but Sam pulled the car over to the side of the road.

"Sam?" Dean asked, alarmed. Oh, God, all this genetic hardwiring had let him forget it was all about reproduction, not love. Maybe Sam didn't feel that way about him. Heart-broken, he drew away from his brother and huddled against the passenger door until Sam got the Impala stopped. He considered bolting from the car, but the impossibility of outrunning his alpha and the impracticability of trying it while wearing nothing but a blanket rose up to quash the melodramatic impulse.

Sam shoved the gear into park, then turned to look at him. "Say that again."

Dean's jaw twitched in defiance, but to hell with it. If he was going to be put in his place, it was going to because of the truth, not general bitchiness. "I'm in love with you."

Strong hands wrapped around his arms, then yanked him close and for one horrible minute Dean thought Sam was going to spank him or something in clear view of any passing car for the offense of having really lousy taste in who he fell in love with. "I love you, too."

The soap opera spinning away in his mind came to an abrupt halt. "You … do?" Were alphas even allowed to say shit like that, let alone feel it?

"Head over heels for years," Sam confirmed.

"Years?" he squeaked, because he'd always loved Sam, always thought of him as the center of his universe, but he couldn't deny the 'in love' part of the equation hadn't clicked into place until a well-endowed cock had shoved it there.

"Yes," Sam said, clearly irritated at the incredible slowness of the bitch life had forced on him.

Dean glared at him, because who was supposed to get someone constantly whining over hunting was really an attempt to hide some huge incestuous love? Wait. What? … "Was that what all the bitching was about?"

Sam glared back, then with a disgusted huff, he pulled Dean even closer and into a deep, toe curling kiss. Dean moaned loudly around the tongue ravaging his mouth, then groaned when Sam drew back all too quickly.

"Saaammm," he whined reaching for him, but his mate shook his head.

"No, Dean," he said with a firmness that promised unpleasant retribution should Dean disobey. Then he gave Dean a rueful smile to soften things. "One more kiss like that and you'll end up riding my knot. Right were everyone can see us."

Oh. Right. Okay, as Sam got the car back on the road, Dean tried to remember why public sex was a bad thing, because damn, he wanted what Sam had tucked away in his jeans. Now. He made another whimpering sound.

"Damnit, you're killing me," Sam groaned, then gritted his teeth. "Dean, we tie for an hour. There is no way in Hell we could go that long without some sort of cop busting us."

Yeah, then they'd have to explain why Sam's cock had more in common with a dog than a human's. "And jail isn't the place for a pregnant bitch," he tried to help with the logic.

Sam nodded his encouragement. "Not to mention there might be a description of you out as a person of interest in the death of three citizens of Winslow."

Dean snorted. Citizens. Right. But at least the idea broke the mood enough to get them to the next town and checked into a hotel. Dean laughed when Sam swept him up in his arms and carried him into their room. A bride hauled over the threshold. Pure symbolism. Well, there was some showing off of muscles, too, but the whole thing was a pretty loud 'in sickness and health, for richer for poorer etc.' statement. Made Dean all sort of tingly and happy so he played along and did his best to look like a sexy bride awaiting her new husband while he sat curled on the bed watching Sam lay down the usual salt lines and set a few wards.

He suspected he only managed to look ridiculous, but given the predatory eye Sam turned on him the moment their protection was in place, he guessed it was good enough.

Sam stripped, then crawled up the bed to hover over him. "Do you have any idea," Sam asked, "how much I'm going to love having you naked all the time? Won't even give you a blanket."

Dean pouted as Sam nuzzled his neck. "I'll get cold."

"I'll keep you warm," his big, blast furnace of a body settling over Dean. Yeah, he supposed he would.

"You promised me kisses. Lots of kisses."

Sam grinned, then swooped in to claim Dean's mouth. Their tongues and lips danced together over and over again, while every few minutes Sam shifted to kiss Dean's eyelids, along his jaw or the hollow of his throat. After a long time, Dean's legs parted, shifting up enough for Sam's cock to slip inside of him. To his surprise, Sam finding himself buried in Dean's cunt didn't turn their love-making into rutting. Instead Sam continued to kiss him, caress him, while his hips settled into a slow, easy pulse that kept both of them on a delicious edge of pleasure.

Without warning he shifted form, but the wolf continued the lazy pace, his tongue lapping gently over Dean's heated skin. Should have been weird, but Dean's mouth opened at the lick over his lips and he began kissing Sam's snout while his mate's tongue caressed his own. "Tie me," he finally whispered into the soft fur near Sam's ear. "Love you so much. Seal us together."

Dean gasped as one hard thrust forced the knot through his opening, and the wolf took advantage to reclaim his mouth. Somehow the slower pace made Sam last longer, and he stayed buried in Dean's cunt for almost two hours while they kissed and licked and Dean's body shuddered in gentle orgasm after orgasm. The wolf form shifted back to human as Sam finally withdrew, then stretched out beside Dean.

Strong, long arms pulled Dean gently over enough to curl up against Sam's chest, his head resting over Sam's heart. They lay together quietly cuddling until the sun began to set. The need for food would become an issue soon, but before a stomach growl could break the mood, Dean whispered, "I didn't think werewolves could make love."

"Maybe not," Sam said, kissing the top of his head. "But Sam will always make love to Dean."

Dean sort of sniffed and wondered if it was too early to blame such things on hormones. "Sappy jerk."

Sam's arms tightened around him. "Pushy bitch." So he was. And it was all good.

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on LJ 8/22/10. This is about as non-kinky as this journal will get so if you didn't like this, please pass on anything else I post!


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